


Drown My Sorrow

by wednesdays__child



Series: Mad World [3]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drugs, Hallucinations, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesdays__child/pseuds/wednesdays__child
Summary: The team gets to work to find the 13 escaped serial killers. It gets suddenly derailed when Hotch has to confront his biggest fear - Mr. Scratch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part Three of Mad World. 
> 
> Unbetaed - Sorry. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Flashbacks indicated by italics.
> 
> Spoilers through the end of Season 11.

*************

_Their tears are filling up their glasses. No expression, no expression. Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow. No tomorrow, no tomorrow. - Gary Jules_

Thunk.

Thunk.

Hotch watched as the oversized ice cube knocked against the side of his glass, swirling the amber liquid against the sides. It was a present from Rossi, the ice cube tray. His birthday. His fifty third. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was. 

He drained the last of his scotch before picking up the decanter to fill his glass again - one finger, then two. 

He preferred ice in his drink, despite what his father had taught him. Hotch had been ten at the time and already proficient in the art of barkeeping. His mother insisted on cosmopolitans, heavy on the vodka and ice, his father, bourbon, straight up. But one day, young Aaron forgot and put ice in his father's drink.

_"What the hell is this?!"_

_"Bourbon, sir."_

_"Ice!?! Only pussies water down their drinks with ice! Even an idiot like you should know better than that."_

The beating that followed had been brutal. That was the day Aaron learned he couldn't trust anyone.

_"Mrs. Hotchner, it appears your son has two cracked ribs and a mild concussion. What happened?"_

_"He fell down the stairs. He's a clumsy kid. I'll make sure he's more careful in the future."_

_"You do that."_

He'd tried to be careful but trouble seemed to find him, his father always seemed to find him. But he never put another ice cube in his father's drinks even if he preferred them in his own. He took another sip, enjoying the burn of the scotch all the way down his throat before settling in his belly. 

The darkness of his apartment closed in around him and he fought against the need to shudder in fear. He wasn't going to let him win, not when he'd already taken so much.

He finished off the alcohol in the glass before leaning forward to grab the decanter for another refill when his wrist was grasped by long, strong fingers. Startled, Hotch looked up into concerned, hazel eyes.

"Reid," he muttered, his voice slurred. "What are you doing here?"

"Jack called me," Spencer whispered. 

Hotch sat up, head turning toward the back bedroom, wondering how much his son had seen, how much he knew. His son was concerned enough to call someone and he'd called Reid. At ten, Jack was learning who to trust and it seems it wasn't Aaron.

Like father, like son.

"How did you get in here?"

"Picked the lock," Spencer answered with a small smile on his face. "It's not as difficult as you'd think. And you really should change your alarm code. I guessed it on the second try."

Hotch sat back, holding the glass close to his chest, listening to the soothing sound of the ice cube against the glass.

Thunk.

Thunk.

"So Jack called you?"

"Yeah. He said he was worried and you weren't talking to him. Why are you sitting here in the dark drinking by yourself?"

"What else am I supposed to do, Reid?" he asked, his voice filled with more venom than he thought he felt. "I'm an unemployed man in his fifties with nothing better to do. Drinking seems like the reasonable thing to do."

"Hotch," Spencer started before sighing and continued, "Aaron. You weren't fired. You took retirement instead of facing the suspension. There is no shame in that."

"No," Aaron spat. "No shame in that. What else am I, Reid? I've been this job for too long. This is who I am. Even after Haley. Even then. And now? Now what am I supposed to do?"

"You have so much you can do, Aaron. So much."

"Yeah, right. Who is going to hire a disgraced, former FBI agent?"

"Aaron, please. Will you tell me what happened?"

Sad chocolate eyes looked up into compassionate hazel. He hadn't told anyone what had happened, what he saw. He couldn't tell. He couldn't.

Thunk.

Thunk.

"I smelled sage, Spencer."

"What?"

"I smelled burning sage."

_The intel was good. They knew where to find him. Peter Lewis had led them across the country, all the way to California. He was smart and knew how to manipulate them, how to manipulate Hotch._

_He ran up the stairs, sure that he would find Lewis hiding in the backroom, a room so small it was practically a closet._

_As soon as he opened the door, he was hit with the smell. Sage - burning sage. His head began to swim and his vision blurred. He felt drugged, like his limbs were suddenly too heavy, his skin too tight._

_Once he'd stepped in and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw his worst fear in front him. Peter Lewis sat in a large chair, a huge, disgusting smile stretching his face, distorting his features. At his feet lay Spencer, naked and bloody, his body littered with scratches and open wounds. His hazel eyes frozen, open and wide. Unmoving. Dead. A sob escaped Aaron's throat as he stared at the horrific sight before him._

_Slowly, Lewis began to rise, standing from this perch over Spencer's cold, lifeless body. Terror gripped Aaron's heart as he watched fingernails begin to lengthen and sharpen, turning from fingers into talons, reaching out toward him, threatening to carve him up, just like the man on the floor before him._

_"No," Aaron whispered, his voice trembling. "No," he cried. "NO!" he screamed as he raised his weapon._

_He pulled the trigger, over and over and over again._

_Still, Mr. Scratch advanced on him. Wanting to take his life._

_Once his weapon was empty, he bent down to draw his backup from his ankle holster._

_He had to be stopped. He had to be._

_Suddenly strong arms were around him, stopping him, holding him, keeping him down. Aaron cried out, knowing that this was his end. Mr. Scratch had won._

"I didn't even know it was Rossi until we were outside," Hotch concluded. "Dave told me I had emptied my glock into his chest but I don't remember him bleeding. I don't remember him stopping. I just remember his eyes and his laugh and seeing you - dead at his feet."

"Oh Aaron," Spencer whispered. He reached for the glass again, but Hotch pulled it away once more.

Thunk.

Thunk.

"He drugged me, Reid," Hotch whispered hotly. "I know he did."

"Sorry, Aaron but no," the younger man answered. "They did a tox screen on you and your blood tests came back clean. You weren't dosed."

"I was. I smelled sage. I smelled it."

"We checked," Spencer answered. "I checked. I looked all over that room and there was no sign of the drug. I wish I could tell you why you saw what you did but I can't."

"But I smelled it..."

"I know."

Thunk.

Thunk.

"Aaron," Spencer started as he leaned in further, his warm, sweet breath brushing over Hotch's face. "It's over. He's gone. You did it. You won."

It didn't feel like a win. A man without a job, his job, his life. 

"Now what?" he asked, his voice breaking on the words.

Thunk.

Thunk.

"You don't have to do this anymore. Maybe it's time to move on. There is so much you can do. They left it open in your contract that you could return to the Academy to teach. You could lecture. People love to hear you speak. You could return to law. This isn't the end, Aaron."

"It is for me."

Warm hand cupped his face as Spencer leaned in close. "No it's not. You have so much still to do, Aaron. Think of Jack. Think of me."

"Think of you?"

"Yeah, what about me? You can't leave me, Hotch."

Aaron began to lean forward, wanting something, when he heard a soft voice call from down the hallway.

"Spencer?"

"Hey, buddy," Spencer answered as he quickly stood and made his way down the hall toward Jack. The young boy accepted the hug before looking into the living room at his father. "I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"You didn't," Jack answered. "Did you help Dad?"

"I hope so, Jack."

"He did," Aaron called out, still staring at the glass in his hands. "Thank you, Jack. I didn't mean to scare you. Really I didn't. I just..." A sob pulled him short and then his arms were full of trembling child. Jack clung to him, needing the reassurance that his father was alright as much as Hotch needed to know that his son was still there. 

Eventually Spencer came over and helped Jack down the hallway and into his bedroom. Aaron listened to the whispered conversation, unable to understand what was being said but feeling the love and concern in the tone. He must have dozed off because suddenly Spencer was easing the glass from his fingers and helping him to his feet. He was a slow, stumbling mess all the way down the hall, leaning heavily against the thinner man who made sure he didn't injure himself on the way. Once they were in the bedroom, Spencer gently settled him down onto the foot of the bed before kneeling before him to help remove his shoes. He stared at the head full of unruly chestnut curls before he couldn't resist anymore and he reached out to tangle his fingers in the temptation before him.

Spencer smiled up at him and Aaron swore he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

"At least one good thing came out of all of this," the younger man whispered.

"What's that?"

He was graced with another tempting smile. "Because now I can finally do this." And suddenly warm lips were pressing against his own as Spencer leaned up, leading the kiss. 

Aaron sighed as his fingers clenched in the soft hair of their own accord. He pulled Spencer in closer, wanting more, needing more. Someone whimpered, probably him, and then his lips were parting to let Spencer's tongue in as the younger man began to explore his mouth. Desperation began to take root deep in Aaron's belly and he pulled the object of his desire up and into his lap. Spencer's hands rested on his shoulders, first rubbing and petting before they began to push, gently at first, then more insistently. But Aaron couldn't let go, couldn't stop, not now, not when he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted.

He yelped as he pulled back and away from the sudden pain as Spencer bit his lip, hard. Tasting hot copper, Aaron licked his bottom lip. 

"What did you do that for?" he asked.

Spencer lightly rubbed his thumb over the injured lip. "Sorry," he whispered. "But I'm not having our first time be some drunken fumbling, Aaron. I want you to remember everything I'm going to do to you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Hotch answered, his mind still swimming with drink and lust. 

Spencer smiled then, his eyes twinkling in the low light. "Good. Now let's get you ready for bed." The younger man then set about getting him ready for bed, steadily stripping him despite Aaron's fumbling attempts at touching and helping. By the time he was being pressed down onto the mattress, Hotch was yawning long and wide. Feeling the sheets and then blankets pulled up around his shoulders, Aaron quickly reached out and captured the thin wrist in an iron grip.

"Stay?" When it looked like Spencer might decline, he added, "Please. The nightmares..."

That was apparently all he needed to say. Spencer slowly stripped down to his boxers and undershirt before slipping into his bed, curling around the older man, pressing his chest to Aaron's bare back.

"Sleep well, Hotch. I'll keep your monsters at bay."

There was so much he wanted to say. So many words but none of it was enough. He wondered if it would ever be enough, if he would be enough. As he drifted off, he prayed he had a chance to find out. 

He could swear he could feel the steady heartbeat of the man holding him close, beating steadily against his back, lulling him to sleep and keeping him safe.

Thump, thump.

Thump, thump.

_When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us. - Alexander Graham Bell_

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm still having issues with no Hotch in the new season so I decided I needed to get this series finished before it started and tainted the rest of the story the way it is currently in my head. It's already been derailed once, for crying out loud! One, maybe two more pieces to go.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
